Old Lovers and Old Enemies
by OldSFfan
Summary: Saint John is back, but will String's old enemy disrupt the new Airwolf team?


Disclaimer: These characters and original scenario belong to the copyright holders, Bellisarius, etc. I'm just getting them off the shelf to visit with them for a while. I am ignoring parts of "Blackjack," and including characters from all four seasons. Characters and pieces of the plot or dialog from several episodes are incorporated in the story.

Old Lovers and Old Enemies

Jo Santini set Airwolf down on the landing pad in the Lair. She turned the rotors off and stepped out to face Jason Locke and Mike Rivers. She removed her helmet. Mike's breath caught at her blue eyes, her shiny helmet of blonde hair. Jason put his gun away in his shoulder holster.

"You're a great flyer, you know," Mike said, in stunned appreciation.

Sitting at the bar in a club, with his date's attention wandering, Mike replayed that moment in his imagination. His date, Marguerite, was her name, clearly wanted more excitement for the evening. He turned back to her. Being obsessed with the woman his friend and roommate was interested in was no excuse for bad manners. "Would you like to dance?" he asked.

"I thought you'd never ask." As the evening progressed, Marguerite's voice seemed to get more shrill. Her hair was blonde but with an artificial luster that set his teeth on edge. Dutifully, he took her hand and led her to the dance floor.

The week passed with a movie stunt, a charter, and an Airwolf mission. Mike loved the variety of being a part of the Airwolf team, flying the only mach-capable helicopter gunship in the world, but he missed the rituals of duty on an Air Force base as well. It had been his life since he had been in ROTC in college and he had never regretted his career choice.

Sunday came around with August mugginess. The blessed relief of the marine layer had dissipated. It would be good to get back to the cool mountain air at String's cabin. Mike put the finishing touches on potato salad, covered the bowl with plastic wrap, and drove to the airfield to fly up with Dom. Mike's roommate, Saint John Hawke was bringing an old friend and her son in another chopper.

Dominic Santini carefully settled himself in the pilot's seat of the Jet Ranger. Jo Santini stowed her uncle's cane for him behind the seat. He had had to learn how to fly with a prosthetic left leg and with some nerve damage in his left arm. Nonetheless, after decades as a superb pilot, making the adjustments came fairly easily once he accepted that having survived the bombing at Santini Air the year before, he had to fly a little differently. A long-sleeved shirt with a collar hid most of the burn scars on his arms and neck. The prosthetic leg was realistic enough in appearance that he was able to give lessons and fly charters without upsetting his clients. The forty-five minute flight to String's cabin was nearly at the limit of what he would allow himself at a time, so far, but life was too sweet to cater to his injuries.

Jo sat wedged in the back between Mike and Jason, while Toni Donatelli, Santini Air's part-time pilot, sat in the passenger's seat next to Dom. It was cramped so Mike rubbed shoulders with Jo. He thought to himself that it was pathetic that he looked forward even to that small amount of contact with her. And the renegade thought that Saint John, after all, was bringing another woman to the picnic.

Stringfellow Hawke stood by the grill in front of the porch, leaning on his cane and tossing a ball for Tet. The hound was no retriever, but it served to keep Tet off the dock and away from the Jet Ranger's skids before he lost interest. Caitlin came out from the cabin, one hand shading her eyes against the brilliant afternoon sun. She set a jar of pickles on the table, with the lid on to keep the flies out. Le Van put the comic book that he was reading down on the porch bench by his boombox. He ran to meet the chopper and bounced like a puppy alongside the adults until Toni handed him the bag of hotdog and hamburger buns she was carrying and asked him to take it into the house.

"He's turning back into a kid," Dom said quietly to String.

String's grin was an acknowledgement of it. "For a while, I thought he was a thirty-five-year-old midget," String said. "Lately, he's turning back into a twelve-year-old."

Jo took the potato salad from Mike and set it on the table.

Another helicopter soared over the lake. "Saint John," String said, with the happy smile that seemed to light up every time he mentioned his brother. He fiddled with the grill grate as the small chopper cleared the cabin and settled in the expanded pad behind it. "I hope we don't get many more choppers in the family. We're nearly up against public land now." His inclusive use of 'family' was not lost on Mike. Old, reclusive Stringfellow Hawke seemed to have a knack for building families. Mike wondered how the supposedly clever personality profilers at the Firm had missed it.

Three-year-old Joshua practically ran circles around Ellie, Saint John, and Jason in his excitement over the helicopter ride. He stopped in his tracks, confronted by all the strange adults. Saint John and Ellie stopped too. "Everybody, this is Ellie McNeal and her son Joshua." He took her hand and led her up on the porch, to Dom. "You heard us talk about Dominic Santini, back in Da Nang. I'd like you to meet him."

Dom stood up, leaning on his cane. "Ellie, Saint John wrote about you in letters home."

"That was a long time ago, Mr. Santini."

"Call me Dom, Ellie. They were good letters." Saint John took the pan of brownies from her and carried it into the house, followed by Jason with jars of mustard and relish.

Back down by the grill, Ellie threw her arms around String. "Saint John told me about the explosion. Thank God you're all right."

String turned to Caitlin. "Ellie, Caitlin O'Shannessy. Cait, an old friend from our days in Vietnam, Ellie McNeal. It was Ellie McKenna when we knew her then." He looked around. "And my son, Le Van Hawke, seems to be saying hello to your Joshua, who wouldn't remember me, anyway."

Le was squatting next to Joshua. "You know what?" he asked. "Everybody here can fly a helicopter."

"Copper," the toddler managed, eyes shining.

Tet emerged from the open cabin door and strolled down the porch steps. Joshua, finding something even more interesting than helicopters and too many grown-ups, made a beeline for the dog who looked up in alarm and went to stand behind String.

"Do you want to pet the dog?" Le asked.

"Dog," Joshua repeated, hand out.

"You sit right here, and I'll bring the dog over."

Le helped Joshua sit on one of the tree stumps off to one side of the clearing, then grabbed Tet's collar and brought him over. "Sit," he told the old blue tick hound, who cocked a doggie eyebrow, sighed, and settled down. "I've been training him," Le said proudly. Joshua reached out a tentative little hand and when Tet accepted it, he jumped off the stump and sat down by the dog to pet him in earnest.

Cait leaned against Hawke lightly. "I had no idea Le was so good with kids," she said softly.

"I didn't either. Maybe he learned in that orphanage after he got separated from his mother, before his Aunt Minh found him."

"And I didn't know that Tet was trainable."

Dom watched Jo with concern. She was looking at Ellie and Saint John, her expression barely concealing her distress. "Jo, come talk to me," he told her. She jerked back.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Dom."

"You don't have a claim on him," he said softly, "though I'd sure like to see you two get together."

She sat down next to him on the bench. "I thought Saint John would come back, and it would be like before he left." She took a deep breath. "We were kids then. It was half a lifetime ago."

"He never said anything to you then, did he?"

Ruefully, she shook her head. "I think he saw me as a nuisance, in high school. Remember, by the time he was in college, I had moved back with Aunt Christine in Chicago, and by the time I'd finished college, he was MIA."

"So you want him to see you as a nuisance, again?" Dom asked.

Mike looked up at the two of them, as Jo doubled over, laughing. He noticed only Dom could draw that response from her, and he wished he could, too.

Monday morning brought Jo, String and Cait to discuss a new film stunt with Dom. "Are you up to it?" Dom asked. "It can't be Cait. The camera is going to come in too close to what's-his-name."

"Blaze," String said dutifully.

The sound of Mike's car, screeching up to the parking space outside the hangar, interrupted them. "Mike," both Cait and String said.

He walked in, whistling. "Have we got a film stunt for you," Dom greeted him.

Mike struck a Shakespearean pose, hand on his chest. "To be, or not..."

"Don't tempt me," Hawke muttered, and returned to the engine overhaul he was working on across the hangar floor.

"Why not Saint John?" Mike asked, pleased to be included in the bread and butter business of Santini Air.

"He really doesn't look enough like the actor. Your hair is the right shade of blonde. And Saint John, well, it's not so much his height; he's kinda rangy and the actor isn't."

"Oh, great. I get offered the part because I'm short and ordinary…"

"You got it."

"I could always go back to flying fighter jets."

"But you'd miss Airwolf."

"Yes, I would."

"Let's go into the office and plan the stunt."

The coffee was still fresh. They all clustered around Dom's desk with a copy of the script and the description of the stunt. By nine-thirty a.m. they had a detailed plan. String looked up. "Did Saint John call in?"

"No," Dom reported. "Did he say anything to you?"

Troubled, Mike said, "He didn't come home last night. I thought maybe he'd stayed up at the Lake."

"No, he didn't."

"With Ellie?"

"I don't think their relationship is there, at least not yet. We can't call her like we're checking up on a teenage boy."

"Maybe he had car trouble somewhere."

"This isn't like him. At the least, he would have called."

"We don't know really what he's like, anymore," Dom said gently. "Did he have an appointment for therapy at the VA?"

"That wouldn't explain not coming home. He's never done that before without letting someone know."

"Could he have had a flashback?" Jo asked.

"He hasn't had one for weeks. And that one was pretty mild."

String stood up, grabbed his cane, and started for the door.

"Where are you going?" Cait asked.

"To look for him."

"Where?"

"Along the route between here and the townhouse."

"I'm coming," Mike said. "We'll take my car. I'll drive, you look."

"He'll feel we're ganging up on him."

"String, if there's a problem, you may need some back-up. He's my roommate and my friend."

Hawke stopped and took a deep breath. "All right. That makes sense."

He wasn't at the townhouse. Two passes along the half-mile route between the airfield and the townhouse turned up nothing. The third did. In a corner of the parking lot of a small strip mall, between a garbage dumpster and a very battered extended-cab pick-up truck, they found Saint John's used green Ford Thunderbird. The doors were unlocked. String pulled the driver's side open. It looked normal, but a few suspicious brown blotches might have been blood. Looking under the seat, String found Saint John's keys. Heart pounding, he opened the trunk. It was empty. He locked up.

There were five storefronts in the strip mall: a Seven Eleven, a vacuum cleaner repair shop, a dry cleaner, a trophy shop, and a diner. "I'll start at the Seven Eleven," he told Mike. "You start at the diner. Check the men's room." And see if there's an alley behind it. Check the dumpster." He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and flipped it to a recent picture of Saint John. "You could show them this. I'll want it back."

Hawke grabbed his cane from the backseat of Mike's car and limped rapidly into the Seven Eleven. Mike nearly ran into the diner. They met in the alley behind the stores. "Nothing," Mike said, as he handed the photo back to Hawke. "Maybe we should make some copies of that."

"Yeah, good idea. There's a copier in the Seven Eleven."

"Let's find a payphone, in case our line is tapped." Mike said. "We have to call Jason."

"Why?"

Mike sighed and turned to face Hawke. "Jason is Saint John's friend. He has access to Firm computers, and he has lots of people to help."

"He has Zebra Squad. Remember that Saint John is one of only a handful of people in the world who can fly Airwolf."

"Zebra Squad?"

"Firm security, and assassins."

Mike turned to Hawke, geniality gone. "Jason wouldn't be a party to that."

"He won't have any choice."

"So what do you want to do?"

"I'll drive Saint John's car back to the airfield. We can call some hospitals."

"You have an idea, don't you?"

"I have lots of ideas, all bad."

"Don't you think you ought to tell me what?"

"I don't know anything yet."

Hawke turned away and Mike grabbed his shoulder. Hawke whirled back and Mike ducked, relieved that there was no punch heading for his chin. "Stop being an idiot. This isn't helping Saint John any."

"He's my brother."

"And he's my friend and my teammate. Dammit, Hawke, you don't have to do everything alone. If you did, you'd have died in that hospital room before we got you out. If you think there'll be a phone call, let's get back to Santini Air and wait for it."

Hawke shrugged in defeat. He rubbed his hand through his hair so it stood on end. "All right."

"We'll take Saint John's car back to the airfield. I'll stop along the way to phone Jason. String, you don't have to go it alone anymore. Saint John doesn't want you to go it alone. Let us in."

Mike followed Hawke in Saint John's Thunderbird back to the airfield. They stopped at a payphone outside a gas station and called Jason.

Dom and Jo rushed out when they heard the cars, relief on their faces turned to worry when they saw that String was driving Saint John's car. "You didn't find him," Dom said, as String climbed out of the car.

"Just the car. Let's go in the office." String closed the door behind him. "Have you swept it recently?"

"I'll get it." Mike grabbed the detector and took it around the room while Jo took the phone and unscrewed the front of the receiver to check for listening devices. Dom checked the radio.

"Clean," Jo said. "String, do you have any idea what's happened?"

"I don't know. Why would anyone bother Saint John? He just came home. Doesn't he deserve a break?" Dom could see the distress bordering on panic in Hawke's face. He put an arm around his shoulders.

"String, sit down. Let's take a deep breath and try to think what might have happened."

The sound of a vehicle outside the hangar door stopped him. Jason Locke walked in.

Jason sat on the edge of Dom's desk. "Okay, everybody, let's see what we know so far. Caitlin, you were a police officer. I'd like you, for the time being, to use that approach and see if you can spot anything we're missing." He turned to Hawke. "Call Mrs. McNeal. I don't want to scare her, but Saint John was getting involved with her."

"Yeah." He limped out to use the phone in the hangar.

"Then we'll need to go over Saint John's car," Cait said. "And I'll need to see where you found it."

"I've got some forensic gear in my car."

"Good. Has he said anything? Have there been any incidents or any odd phone calls? Has he mentioned any concerns?"

Mike said, "You know, last week he said that he thought someone was following him. But he didn't see anything again. He said that he must have been mistaken."

"Did he describe the vehicle?"

"No. And remember, he doesn't know the current models."

"Right."

Hawke said, "Ellie hasn't seen him. She's on the way over. But odds are that this has something to do with Airwolf. It usually does. We're going to have to move it."

"You're right," Jason said. "Even though we have pretty good security on the Lair now. Mike, will you move Airwolf? String, I assume you have some place in mind?"

"Yeah. I've used it before. We'll go together."

"That leaves everyone else near the phone." Hawke shrugged. "I'm hoping Dom gets a call from Saint John while we're gone, wondering where his car is. Let's get some guns out of the safe." He turned to Dom. "Watch your back. All of you. I'd suggest locking the hangar and office down, the kind of drill you told me you had prepared for." Hawke realized that he had just taken over. "Sorry, Jason, this is your team, now."

Locke shrugged. "Makes sense to me. Let's make sure you're all armed.

String turned to Mike. "Okay. Let's take the Jet Ranger."

The Jet Ranger had been parked in the hangar, a precaution the team had taken with the helicopters in daily use since the bombing. Mike and Jason rolled it out.

"If we aren't back in three hours, or if you haven't heard from us, then we're in trouble too," Hawke told them. "Cait, could you call the Okushiro's and ask them to keep Le Van another night?"

Both men headed for the pilot's seat, turned to face each other like a couple of tomcats. Hawke stepped back, shaking his head. "You drive." He went around the chopper and climbed into the co-pilot's seat. Mike's lift off was considerably more sedate than Hawke's would have been.

He filed a flight plan that led toward Hawke's cabin and then veered off toward the Lair after flying north of the cabin. Hawke said, "I wish we had Airwolf's sensors. I don't see any bogies, but they could be just out of visual range."

"The team is monitoring the new gear from the office. They'll let us know if they see anything."

"What new gear?"

Mike smiled enigmatically. "Wait a minute. You'll see."

Mike set the Jet Ranger just outside the Lair. Hawke pulled the gun from his waistband as he stepped out of the helicopter, cane in the other hand. He followed Mike into the cave. Mike checked the space in the Lair as he walked in. "Clear," he said.

Hawke scanned the upper crevices and hiding spots. "Clear," he agreed. And stopped and stared.

"What is all this?"

"It was Archangel's parting gift before being transferred to Manila. Let me give you the five minute tour. We've got to move the Lady."

Hawke couldn't help but smile. "Dom's got you calling her the 'Lady,' huh?"

"He's right."

"Dom usually is."

Mike showed Hawke the advanced radar and other types of imagery available to the ground crew. "I'm impressed. I had no idea. We'll have to thank Michael when he gets back to the States." He turned away from examining the elaborate displays. "Saint John didn't mention it. Of course, he didn't know I didn't know." Mentioning his brother's name brought the scowl back to his face. "We'd better get moving."

"So where are you going to put it?"

"You're going to, high, on turbos with radar suppression. I'll pick you up."

"Good. Where am I going?"

"There's a ravine behind my cabin. One-half mile, due north. I've hidden her there several times. With the camouflage netting, she'll be invisible there. No one would think anything of the Jet Ranger parking on my dock." He turned to Rivers. "Mike."

"Yeah?"

"Use the sensors. Bring some armament on line before you leave, since you'll be alone in the cockpit. This was too easy."

"You're really sure we have trouble?"

"We know that Saint John has to be in trouble."

"Good enough. See you in about an hour at the cabin."

Hawke flew a misleading path back to the cabin and set the Jet Ranger down on the dock. Mike strolled out of the woods, coming along the path rather than directly from Airwolf's hiding place.

"Any problem?"

"No."

"Still too easy," Hawke muttered, as he lifted off for Van Nuys with Mike in the left seat.

Late in the day there was still no sign of Saint John after Caitlin had conducted a preliminary investigation. The remains of pizza littered the desk along with dirty coffee mugs. Ellie sighed and got up to wash the mugs. Joshua was curled up asleep on the cot in the office. "I've got to take Joshua home," she said. She was close to tears. "I just got Saint John back," she said, stifling a sob.

Dom hugged her. "We'll get him back, Ellie."

Mike watched Jo while Ellie was speaking. She looked, well, not jealous, but lost, he thought. Impulsively, he reached out to place an arm around Jo's shoulders. "We'll get him back," he echoed Dom.

She surprised him by taking his arm. "Thank you."

"Who wants to take the all night phone shift – there should be two at a time," Dom asked.

Jason said, "I'll do it."

"Me, too," Mike said, "But I think someone should stop by the townhouse to see if he got home."

"We'll run by the townhouse," Dom said. "Jo, let's go. We'll be back early tomorrow."

"Okay, Uncle Dom," she said. She gathered up her purse. "Ellie, we don't know what we're up against. Would you like to stay in our guest room? We can go by your place tomorrow to get you and Joshua some clean clothes, check the mail, and so forth."

"Thank you. You all seem to know something I don't, but I can't risk him." She gestured at her sleeping child. "Let me follow you home."

Mike watched that exchange with astonishment. He had been keeping Jo at a distance because he would not get between Saint John and Jo. Perhaps that wasn't an issue. When Saint John came back, he would ask.

"Cait and I are going to have to get some sleep, too," String said. "Radio us if you hear anything, or if you think of anything."

"Of course."

"Everybody, for now, vigilance is in order," String pointed out. "Ellie, don't be alarmed, but we're going to be carrying guns. Without going into it, just let me say that it's appropriate, and we know what we're doing." He shrugged. "Of course, you knew I was working for the Firm back in Da Nang."

Hawke had not expected to be able to sleep but he was snuggled tight against Caitlin in the dark quiet of the sleeping loft when the sound of a helicopter and Tet's "whoof" woke him. He sat up and pulled on his jeans, then shoved his handgun into the waistband.

"What?" Cait whispered.

"Chopper. Not one of ours. Stay out of sight and keep your weapon close." He grabbed his cane and moved quietly down the stairs. In the dark great room he stood to the side of the door, gun in his hand with the safety off. The engine and rotor noise stopped behind the cabin. Then the door opened.

"I assume you're waiting for me, Hawke," the tall figure said, with a British accent.

"Dunkirk, I thought you were dead." Hawke flicked on the light switch and aimed the gun at the intruder's head.

"It wasn't for your lack of trying." Hawke noticed the burn scars on Dunkirk's face. Well, he had dropped the HX1 on top of him.

"Where's my brother?"

"That again?"

"This time, you took him."

"I came to trade. You killed my pilot and destroyed my aircraft. You cost me money and credibility, not to mention nearly killing me. I want Airwolf and a pilot to show it off for potential buyers."

"It's not mine to trade. The deal was Saint John for Airwolf, remember? I gave it back."

"Do you expect me to believe that, Hawke?"

"You're out of the loop, Dunkirk. Someone tried to blow me up. I can barely fly that Jet Ranger out there from the airfield to my cabin. Airwolf isn't mine, I don't have access to it, and I couldn't fly it if I still had it."

"Then here's the deal, old fellow. I know that your brother has been flying Airwolf. You'll have to get it somehow. Saint John flies a demonstration for my buyers. And if you give it to me, he gets to live."

Hawke raised the pistol. "What makes you think you're going to leave here?"

"Come on, Hawke, be sensible; I've got your brother. If I don't return to my…colleagues, they won't return Saint John." Dunkirk turned back to the door, pointedly ignoring Hawke's weapon. "I'll contact you tomorrow afternoon at 4:00. At Santini Air, since you don't have a phone up here. See that you answer it, and you won't have time to trace the call." He walked out the door. The sound of his helicopter filled the cabin a few minutes later.

Hawke was shaking. He reset the safety and put the gun on the counter. Cait stepped out from behind the door where she had taken cover and flipped the safety on her weapon as well.

"It's my fault," Hawke said, voice agonized. "If I hadn't killed Mace and destroyed the HX1, this wouldn't have happened. And I was just trying to find Saint John!"

"You did the right thing, String. You had to stop Dunkirk from selling the HX1. You begged Mace not to make you fight back." She wrapped her arms around him. "We'll get Saint John back."

"How can I help Saint John? I can't walk across the room without this thing." His voice went up and he made to heave the cane across the room, but took a deep breath and put it down. "I can't get back to sleep, but if you can, please go ahead. I'll make some coffee, and we'll call Jason in a couple hours."

Shortly after sun-up, Hawke went to the radio tucked in a cabinet by the bar. "Santini Air, Santini Air."

It took a moment for Jason's voice, blurry with sleep, to answer. "String?"

"Michael Dunkirk has Saint John. He wants to trade him for Airwolf, and for Saint John to fly her in a demo for potential buyers. He just left here. He'll call the airfield this afternoon. At least he doesn't seem to be aware of Airwolf's location."

"String, come on down, and we'll make a plan."

"Yeah. See you in an hour."

Cait flew the Jet Ranger down the mountain. Hawke sat in the passenger seat with his hands clasped between his knees. Jo met them with a bag of breakfast food and fresh coffee in the coffeemaker. Mike sat next to her with a proprietary air. Ellie kept Joshua occupied out in the hangar. Hawke sat in the chair by the desk and ate his egg sandwich without tasting it. Cait set coffee by him and he sipped it automatically. "Dunkirk said he will call at 4:00 this afternoon, but he won't be on the phone long enough for us to trace the call. Jason, has he been on the radar at all since the HX1 incident almost two years ago?"

Jason collected a printout from the computer in the corner. "This is what my office was able to find so far. Dunkirk disappeared after the HX1 incident, but he must have had a plan, because his family, the horses and tack were gone from his horse farm when we got there. Mason Taggart's remains were found in the HX1, near several of Dunkirk's customers. Michael arranged to have it look to Taggart's parents that his remains were found in Vietnam. Dunkirk showed up in a hospital in Eastern Europe for a few weeks. Since then, he has been in the middle of a number of mercenary operations and arms deals. We didn't know he was in this country until you called."

"He wants me and he wants Airwolf. I'm going to have to give it to him."

"You can't. Neither you nor Airwolf."

"Then how are we going to get Saint John back?"

"String, we can't give him Airwolf, and if we hand you over, Saint John will make us wish we didn't."

"For God's sake, Jason. Sixteen years as a POW. He just got home. You brought him home." They glared at each other.

Jason looked away. "You'll have to wear a wire."

"Dunkirk will be expecting a wire."

"Then let him find one. It will keep him occupied. Obviously, you can't just turn Airwolf over to him. Besides, can you fly her?"

"I'm sure I can manage regular flight on rotors. Turbos, I don't know. It may not be necessary."

Dom said, "Remember when we had to rescue you from John Bradford Horn? Cait hid in the missile compartment at the rear of the cockpit. How about one of you going in with String? Dunkirk doesn't know the ship."

"I'll go," Cait said. "I've done it before."

String and Dom together said, "No."

"Now wait a minute," Cait said.

"Cait, not with these people. It's not just the risk. Your being a woman will make it worse. Remember how we met?"

She opened her mouth to argue, but Rivers said, "I'll go."

"Dunkirk isn't a fool," Hawke said. "If he has any sense he'll take the ship apart, looking for a trick."

"Then you'll have to distract him long enough to get to Saint John and give Mike a chance to go into action. We'll put a homing beacon on the ship. Zebra Squad will be standing by. You know, Dunkirk knows about Saint John but he may not have any idea that we have a whole team now."

"That's a pretty bare-bones plan. But you're right. Dom and I were pretty much alone. Horn didn't even know Cait could fly Airwolf. Dunkirk may have no idea that you've created a subdivision of the Firm here, Jason."

"We have until Dunkirk calls to come up with more. Maybe something else will come to mind when he calls and we find out what he wants."

"He'll phone early. Let's get the gear together now."

"I've already called my office. They'll drop it off within the hour, made to look like a delivery of aircraft parts."

Hawke leaned back with his eyes closed. "How many more of my old mistakes are going to come after me, or Saint John, or anyone else I care about?"

Cait reached out to grip his shoulder. "We'll beat them. String, could you get a little sleep now? You didn't have much last night."

He surprised her. "Yeah. I need to be able to think. Let me stretch out on that cot upstairs."

He left the room and Dom shook his head. "I don't like him going in. He's still recuperating."

"He's got to. He's right; Dunkirk is expecting him," Mike said. "We'll get Saint John. And Cait, Dom, I'll watch out for String."

"Knowing String, I wouldn't be surprised if he rigged a rope and is climbing out the window right now to go after Saint John by himself," Jo observed.

"Mercifully, he doesn't know where to go yet, I think," Jason said. "We all have to wait for Dunkirk's phone call."

Cait stood up and followed Hawke upstairs. "I'll see if he'd like a back rub."

Hawke was rigged with three wires by the time Dunkirk's call came at two in the afternoon. Hawke practically dove for the phone but hit the speaker button as he picked up. Dunkirk's near-Cockney accent filled the office. "Hawke, you know the drill. Wait for my call in thirty minutes sharp at the payphone in front of the Recreation Center at the corner of Sylmar Avenue and Hamlin. Come alone." The phone went dead.

"Here we go," Hawke said, and ran for the jeep.

He waited five minutes for the phone to ring. "Hawke, next stop is the payphone at the Senior Citizens Center at Van Nuys Boulevard and Valerio Street. You have fifteen minutes." Again, the call ended abruptly.

The phone was ringing this time as he pulled up. He dove for it. "This time it's the post office on Van Nuys Boulevard. You have fifteen minutes."

Hawke had trouble parking but was waiting for the call when it came. "All right, Hawke, we've played long enough. Do you have access to Airwolf?"

"I can get to it."

"Can you get to it without alerting the people who control it?"

"They don't think I'm up to flying it."

"Are you?"

"I'll manage."

"Can you get to it today?"

"I can get to it."

"Obviously we'll expect you to come alone. Fly it to these coordinates." He read off a location that Hawke wrote down on a pad. Hawke knew that someone at Santini Air was listening to the transmission.

"It will take me an hour and a half to get to it, and an hour to get to that location."

"Not that long on turbos."

"Dunkirk, I can't fly it on turbos. I'm stealing it back. Don't push for the impossible."

"You're that racked up, old fellow?"

"You try getting blown up and tell me how well you do afterwards."

"I have, thanks to you. You have two and a half hours. Your brother's life depends on it." The call clicked off.

Hawke risked a speeding ticket back to the Airfield. "Mike, are you ready?" he asked, as he headed into the hangar. He turned to go, then crossed the concrete to Dom and wrapped his arms around him for a moment.

"Bring Saint John back," Dom said. "And yourself, String. Be careful."

"Yeah." He turned to look for Cait. "I'll be back," he told her, and leaned in for a kiss. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Dom placing a comforting arm around Ellie's shoulders, but more interesting, Mike was wrapped up in more than a good-luck kiss with Jo.

Jason and Hawke rolled the chopper out of the hangar. It was not one of the Santini Air red-white-and-blue-painted specials, but was the small, black ship that Hawke often used for personal business. Mike was concealed in the back. Hawke climbed in and started the rotors. "Keep your head down. We're probably under surveillance."

"Of course we are," the voice came from behind the seats, heavy with exasperation. "Just fly. I feel like a sardine back here."

Hawke couldn't help his reluctant smile as he lifted off. Out of sight but following well off the radar, was a Company chopper, armed and ready to intervene if Dunkirk's people followed Hawke and Mike to the cabin. "I would jump in to take it as soon as we land," he commented to Mike. "That would neutralize whatever surprise we were planning."

"Remember, right now it looks like you're flying to your cabin."

"Let's hope that's what it looks like."

They landed on the dock uneventfully. They entered the cabin, then left quietly through the back door. Hawke followed Mike to the ravine, then looked down the steep slope with dismay. "Can you make it?" Mike asked.

"I'll have to. I thought nothing of this the last time I hid her here."

"Come on. Take my arm."

"I'll manage. There's a path over here, switchbacks. It's safer." Hawke walked about a hundred yards to the west and with his cane out in front of him, stepped over the lip and down the path. Mike hurried after him, biting his lip to keep from offering advice. It was hard not to keep one hand out to catch Hawke if he slipped. Hawke kept his footing to the bottom. There was some bushwhacking back to Airwolf's hiding place. Working together, they stripped the camouflage cover off. "Ready?"

"Let's do it."

Hawke started the engines and lifted off carefully to avoid overhanging branches. Once clear, he set off toward Dunkirk's coordinates at the best speed he could manage on rotors. Mike was sitting behind him on the deck. "Rivers?"

"Yeah?"

"What are your intentions toward Jo?"

"Toward Jo? Shouldn't you ask Saint John?"

"Saint John? Jo is family. He's interested in Ellie McNeal."

"I'll have to hear that from him."

"Fair enough. Of course, that's not what that good luck kiss between you and Jo back at the office looked like. But if he tells you what I think he will, how do you feel about Jo?"

"She's beautiful. She's a great pilot. She's smart and funny. I've never met anyone like her."

"Oh boy. Rivers, just remember that to Saint John and me, she's more than a cousin. She's our sister."

"Got it."

"Good. I think it's time for you to hide. Oh, and good luck."

"Good luck to us both, and to Saint John."

Hawke set the ship down carefully in a dry wash near a half-ruined cabin. An old cottonwood tree loomed over the back of the cabin. The remains of a fence surrounded a corral to one side of the tree. A pick-up truck was parked in the back. Hawke popped the hatch and stepped down, cane in hand, and shut the hatch behind him. Three men emerged from the cabin's surprisingly intact door, two with AK-47s. They surrounded Hawke and seized his arms. He recognized two of the mercenaries Dunkirk had with him in a bar when he was looking for the stolen HX1.

"I brought Airwolf, Dunkirk. Where's my brother?"

"Remember, Hawke, one of you has to fly a demo for me. Why don't you settle which of you it's going to be with your brother?" Dunkirk turned to the mercenaries. "You, Decker, cover him. Ganns, search him."

It took Ganns none-too-gentle search a matter of seconds to find the first wire, taped to the inside of the String's collar. "Too easy," Dunkirk commented. "Keep searching." The second was tucked in the seam of his right sleeve. Ganns ripped the sleeve open and pulled it out. "Have you got any more, Hawke?" Dunkirk asked. "His people may know where he is by now. Put him in the cabin. We'll be done here by the time anyone can come after him."

Hawke was shoved into the cabin. Saint John was tied to a chair, looking battered. Hawke rushed over to untie his hands and the ropes that bound his feet to the chair legs. "Sinj, are you okay?"

Saint John shook his bonds loose, stood up, and yelled, "Why did you kill Mace?" He swung a powerful right hook that connected with Hawke's chin. Hawke was knocked back against the cabin wall so that he slid down, facing his brother. He shook his head to clear it and fingered his chin carefully. He worked his jaw. Horrified, Saint John rushed over to him. "String, are you all right? God, I'm sorry."

"Sinj, could you wait to knock my head off until we're out of this mess?"

"So why did you kill Mace?"

"Could this wait until later?"

"Oh, right. He helped Hawke to his feet and handed him his cane." "So, which of us gets to fly the demo?"

"You're in better shape than I am, aren't you? You'll have to do it." He reached out and grabbed Saint John's arm. "Sinj," he said softly. "He's not going to let us go."

"I assume you didn't fly into a trap without a plan," Saint John said, equally softly.

"Be ready."

"You know, Hawke, old fellow," Dunkirk said jovially, as he walked into the cabin, weapon at the ready, "I think we'll just fly Airwolf to Libya and make a present of both of you and the helicopter to Khadaffi. The money will be very good, and there's less time for your friends to try to rescue you." He looked pointedly at String's bruised face. "Was I interrupting something?" He gestured with his handgun. "Now, out."

"How do you expect to get Airwolf to Libya?" Saint John asked.

"It's very simple. You will fly Airwolf or I will shoot your brother." He touched the burn scars on his face. "I won't need much of an excuse to shoot him."

Dunkirk turned to the two gunmen. "There has to be a homing beacon on Airwolf. Find it."

Both men walked over to the side of the black helicopter. The door would not open. Dunkirk pointed his weapon at Saint John's head. "Hawke, unlock it."

"String, don't," Saint John said. Dunkirk used the butt of his pistol across the side of Saint John's head. Saint John dropped to his knees.

Hawke took a step toward him as Airwolf's hatch burst open, knocking Decker to the ground. Mike jumped out, firing his weapon. The first shot knocked Ganns backward so he somersaulted before lying face up with red spreading across his chest. The second shot threw Dunkirk to the ground so he dropped his handgun and lay curled on his side with his right hand to his bleeding left shoulder. Decker started to stir and Mike whirled and swung his weapon down on Decker's head. This time he stayed down.

Mike walked over to the brothers jauntily. "Were there any other little problems for me to handle?" He grew serious as he saw String's face. "Dunkirk beat you up?" he asked.

"Not exactly," String said. He extended a hand to help Saint John to his feet. A shot startled them as Mike grunted and doubled over, then collapsed. String whirled to see Dunkirk taking aim again and he reversed his cane and knocked the weapon away like a golfer with a nine iron. He picked up the gun and handed it to Saint John. "Cover him."

He ran over to Mike. "Where did he get you?"

"Knicked my hip. I'll be all right."

"Let me call for help." Hawke stepped over Decker to climb into Airwolf and pushed the Scrambler button. "Jason, Saint John is safe. We're ready for Zebra Squad. I assume the homing beacon gave you our position? All three bad guys will need medical care, one of them is in pretty bad shape, and so will Mike."

"Mike?"

"Shot. He says it's just a graze."

"Hold on." It was quiet for a minute. "The beacon's working. Zebra Squad's on the way. Did you get Dunkirk?"

"Dunkirk will be all yours, once the bullet hole is patched up. Airwolf out." He walked back to Saint John. "Are you okay?"

"Headache. It's not a concussion, though. How's Mike."

"He says he's doing all right. Zebra Squad will bring medical help. Shouldn't be long." He fingered the angry bruise on his jaw. "Did you want to continue that conversation?"

"Later."

"Good. I'm sick of ducking."

"You didn't duck."

"Yeah, I know."

"I'm going to ride with Mike. Will you be all right with the Lady?"

"I'm fine. I'll radio for a pick-up."

Saint John gave him a quick hug. "Thank you for the rescue, brother."

In the Zebra Squad's Sikorsky helicopter, the medic was working on Mike, trying to stop what seemed to be a lot of blood.

"Saint John," Mike said.

"What?"

"Give me a hand, Major," the medic interrupted. "Put your hand on this bandage right here, and hold it." Saint John dutifully put pressure on the point indicated near Mike's hip.

"Can I ask you a question?" Mike asked.

"Sure," he said, indulging the wounded.

"Are you going with Jo?"

"With Jo? What does that have to do with you trying to bleed out in front of me?"

"Just answer the question." Mike's words were getting blurred.

"Jo is my adopted cousin, but we were raised together. I see her as my little sister."

"So you're not going together?"

"What gave you that idea?"

"Good," Mike said, and passed out.

Dom and String climbed out of the small helicopter in front of the hangar at Santini Air. Cait rushed to String's side and flung her arms around him. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah. I'm okay." He tore himself away from her kiss after a moment. Le stood, not too patiently, at his side. "Half-pint," he said, and embraced his son. "I told you we'd be okay."

Cait touched his bruised chin. "Ow!" he complained.

"Want some ice on that?"

"Later. Mike is at the clinic and I want to run over there to see how he's doing. Saint John is with him."

"Jason called. It's worse than Mike thought it was. They're keeping him, at least over night."

"Mike saved both of us."

"We should go to see him. We're very worried about him," Jo said.

"Tell Saint John that I'll be waiting for him here. Thank Mike for me, for bringing him home," Ellie said, going after Joshua who was escaping the hangar with three-year-old abandon."

They piled into a Santini Air jeep.

Mike looked comfortable, bandaged and holding court in bed. The bullet had knicked an artery while passing through his body. The repair had been quick and the anesthetic had worn off. A blood transfusion dripped into his arm from an IV. String, Saint John, and Jo clustered around him.

"Mike. Thank you. This is the second time you've been part of a team that rescued me. I am very, very grateful." Saint John told him.

"Sorry I got you shot," String told him. "If I'd checked on Dunkirk…"

"I got shot," Mike replied. "It happened during a fire fight. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it. We're alive, Saint John is back, and Dunkirk didn't get the Lady. Pretty good day's work, I think."

"Yeah," String conceded. "Pretty good."

Jo pulled up a chair to sit closer to the bed. She seemed tongue-tied and uncomfortable. "Mike, I… I'm glad you're all right." She stood up to kiss him on the cheek. "Can I get you anything? Why don't I bring you something from the cafeteria?"

"Jo, I'd really like it if you just sat with me," Mike said.

She sat down. Mike reached out his hand and she took it. His smile was a little smug as he inclined his head on the pillow so their two bright blonde heads were close together, her hand enfolded in his.

"I'll make the cafeteria run," Saint John said. "Who wants coffee?"

Saint John picked Mike up at the hospital the next morning after he was released. Mike was grumbling as the orderly, accompanied by a nurse, pushed his wheelchair out to the curb where Saint John waited in his car. "I can walk, you know."

"We don't let patients walk out. It saves us the trouble of picking them up off the floor."

Mike subsided back to grumbling under his breath. He climbed into the car and fastened the seatbelt. "Ouch," he said, as he released the belt. "That's hitting me on top of the stitches." Saint John pulled into traffic cautiously.

"Rivers, what are your intentions toward Jo Santini?" Saint John asked.

"String asked me the same thing. Entirely honorable. Well, mostly honorable."

"Rivers, we see Jo as our sister. Treat her accordingly."

"String already warned me. Give me credit for bravery, getting interested in a woman with two bad-tempered brothers, one of whom is bigger than me."

"Then we understand each other."

Jason Locke walked into the hangar at Santini Air. Hawke reflected on the difference between Jason and Michael. Michael, code-named Archangel, would have been driven in a white limousine by one of his 'angels.' Jason drove himself in his late-model black Ford Mustang. "String, could we talk for a minute?"

"Jason? Sure."

"Let's go outside."

String wiped degreaser on his hands and dried them. He turned to look at the African-American agent. "What can I do for you?" he asked. They walked out to the tarmac and leaned against the hangar wall, watching aircraft take off on the runway in front of them.

"You were pretty effective yesterday."

"Mike saved all of us."

"Mike is good at what he does. You aren't completely healed up yet, but you succeeded. I'd like to know if you would like to rejoin the Airwolf team."

"I'd forgotten how much I missed flying Airwolf. But I've given her back. Yesterday I just took her from point A to point B. Any chopper pilot could do the same. I didn't go to turbos. There was no combat in the air."

"You carried out a rescue that worked, and you captured a wanted arms thief and murderer. It was good work."

"I just got Saint John back. It would be ridiculous to lose him again. Why don't we leave it like this, if you need me, I'll try to help."

"Fair enough."

Saint John flew String home to the cabin in the afternoon. Cait would fly up later with Le Van. "So tell me what happened with Mace," he demanded, over a glass of wine.

String fingered the purple bruise on his chin. "He was tied in with Dunkirk. They stole a prototype gunship called the HX1 that they were going to sell to the highest bidder. Security guards were killed in the operation. The HX1 wasn't like Airwolf: fast, but no turbos, cheap to produce, and heavily armed. The theft was something like operations we used to do in Vietnam, killing the engine and dropping in on rotors. Only four of us could do it or would have thought of it, you and me, Marty Vidor, and Mace. I knew Marty and Mace were dead, so I thought it must have been you. I tracked Dunkirk down, and instead, Mace was there. He had escaped the VC, started running drugs, and got involved with selling arms."

"But why did you kill him?"

"He was flying the HX1 in a demo for Dunkirk and some foreign arms buyers. Dom and I flew there in Airwolf to disrupt the sale. HX1 couldn't be allowed to leave the country, but I asked him if he knew where you were, since the VC captured you together, and he said he did. But he began to use us as a target for the HX1 demo. I begged him to land it. I told him I would help him, and he knew I worked for the Firm; he knew I could help, but he was shooting at us and hitting us. The cockpit was filling with smoke and Dom was yelling at me to shoot back. Dom said, 'He's going to shoot us out of the sky.' I couldn't let Mace kill Dom."

"But it was Mace," Saint John cried. "How could you kill Mace?"

"Sinj, think about it objectively, if you can. Think back to that night you quarreled with Ellie and she went off with Mace. I know it's hard to think about that. Sure, they were drunk, and sure, all the guys would have liked to sleep with her; she was the prettiest girl in Da Nang. But it wasn't just that with Mace. He was always watching everyone as if he were measuring what they had and he always wanted it, whatever it was. He was especially jealous of you. It was a sickness twisting him. I saw it, you know, even when I visited his folks. His father was furious at me, all those years later, because I was alive and Mace wasn't. And all those years, Mace never let his parents know he was alive."

Saint John started pacing. "We were friends."

"I think he saved my life. When I followed Dunkirk to a warehouse, someone hit me over the head. I was dazed, but not quite out. I heard Dunkirk say to Mace, 'Why don't you finish it? You said he deserted you.' But Mace didn't shoot me; I was dumped in the desert. So I'd like to think there was something decent left, or he remembered that we were friends."

"Tell me you had nothing to do with Marty Vidor's death."

"He committed suicide, but Dom and I were there. Let's leave that for another time."

"Oh, good grief." Saint John stood up and walked over to where String sat on a bar school. String dropped his hands to his side, leaving himself vulnerable, but hoping his brother wouldn't punch him again. Saint John embraced him. "You know, you always were a pain in the neck."

"So you've told me." He returned the embrace. "Are we done? Cait would like to know that you're not going to hit me anymore. I should warn you that she's probably better at hand-to-hand combat than either of us. For that matter, Half-pint isn't bad at it."

"Brother, I would never, ever want to do anything that would get Cait mad at me. Or Le Van. Or Dominic." He extended his hand. "Peace, and we'll let Mace rest in peace."

"Peace," String said. "And rest in peace to Mace. We had good times together, and that's how I'd like to remember him."

"Here's to the good times," Saint John said. They returned to their wine in harmony.


End file.
